Harry Potter sat on his thin cot, propped up against the colourless wall by the window. Nearly midnight, there was no way he was going to anger the Dursleys on the last night of his confinement to Privet Drive by turning on a bedside lamp. Besides, he could leaf through his album fairly well by the yellow light of the street lamp outside.
Usually he'd flip through the pages at the beginning, where Hagrid had assembled pictures of Harry's parents and family friends as a gift five years ago. He'd spent hours memorizing faces he'd never seen. But with ten minutes remaining to the stroke of midnight, he found himself turning through the last few pictures, the ones he'd added himself. He flipped past a shot of the Gryffindor Quidditch team rousting Slytherin, smiled at the picture of Ron asleep over a half-finished game of chess, and frowned a little at the picture of Ginny swaying demurely and fingering the top buttons on her shirt. There were shots of various members of the DA, and even one of Luna Lovegood and her ridiculously animated lion hat. He smothered a laugh at that.
Harry was looking through the album for one picture in particular. It was from the end of last year, after the fight at Malfoy Manor, after the hearings at the Ministry, and after the months-long detentions with Snape. There, he thought, holding the page open and running a finger along the portrait. It wasn't a wizarding picture, it did not move, or wave at him in any way. But it was one of his favorite possessions in the whole world.
It was a picture of his girlfriend, Hermione Granger, some huge tome on her lap as she sat by the fire in the common room, a smudge of ink alongside her nose. Harry thought she was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.
"I can't believe we're actually dating," Harry muttered to himself with a wistful smile. "Not that we've had any dates, really."
It was true. March, April, and May had found Harry in detention with Severus Snape every night and every weekend as punishment for attacking the greasy haired git and blasting down the doors to the Slytherin common room. Harry had been fortunate enough to escape the wrath of the Ministry of Magic after his assault on Malfoy Manor for the simple reason that it was the only success against the Death Eaters to date. Minister Percy Weasley was too busy celebrating the torching and taking credit for it to note that Harry's actions probably merited a visit to the Wizengamot. In any event, the closest Harry and Hermione had come to having a for-real date were the times she'd waited up for him in the Gryffindor Common room with some food following his sessions in the dungeons, or when he'd walk with her to her classes. It had been the subject of several conversations late at night; Hermione had never been asked out on a real date in her life, and somewhat surprisingly she wished to be. And for the first time ever, Harry was eagerly awaiting the prospect of a genuine date rather than dreading it.
But summer had meant being locked in with the Dursleys again, and Harry had been told in no uncertain terms that any friend of his was unwelcome in their house. Doubly so if it was a girl his own age. The soured lips and gimlet eye Uncle Vernon had graced Harry with when he'd brought up the topic of visiting his girlfriend suggested that the giant blow hard had thought up a few new reasons not to trust his nephew.
So Harry and Hermione had exchanged letters every day for the first two months of summer instead. They were, he reflected, a poor substitute for her company, especially now that he knew what it was like to kiss her. But her letters still brought a smile to his face, and that had been enough for now.
He'd re-read her letters earlier, and now Harry was engaging in a very nice expansion of his own personal birthday tradition. For years he'd waited up alone until midnight the night of July 30th, so that at the very least he could celebrate the day, even if no one else wanted to. This night, he figured he'd be able to share his midnight vigil with the picture of the girl who'd actually said she loved him. It was made better by the knowledge that tomorrow morning he'd be seventeen, and an adult in the Wizarding World. Sooner or later the Order of the Phoenix would pull him out of his captivity on Privet Drive, and he'd finally be able to see Hermione again. With a month of summer left, Harry knew he could get in several wonderful dates, and hopefully many more of the shiveringly good kisses he'd found with his best friend.
Harry grimaced, realizing there were still some hang-ups in his plans for August. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd be leaving, or where he'd be going to. Harry couldn't do as he wished, and stay at the Burrow for the end of summer, as the Weasley house was closed up tight. Most of the family was gone on errands for the Order of the Phoenix, with Ron and Ginny squeezed into the Lovegood house for the duration. Ron's cramped notes suggested the Lovegoods lived in small flat over their printing house with barely enough room to turn around in, so Harry never even considered asking to stay there as well. The most likely place for Dumbledore to stuff him was Grimmauld Place, and Harry thought that Apparating and Disapparating to Old Marston every day to visit his girlfriend might be difficult when he was holed up in a completely hidden manour house. He imagined there'd be some bumps in the road, but once he figured out how, nothing was keeping him away from his girlfriend.
"I wish you were here," Harry said softly to the picture, careful not to wake his unpleasant relatives. "But I hope to see you soon."
"Then look up," came the soft, crisp, amused voice Harry knew so well.
He blinked a moment, then followed directions. Hermione Granger was chewing her lip, arms akimbo, in the middle of his bedroom. "Happy Birthday. Is this a good surprise?"
Harry blinked again, slowly, before a a wide smile split his face. He shoved his album to one side and scrambled out of the camp bed to lift Hermione off the ground in a tremendous hug. She squeaked for a moment as he held her aloft, but he could tell she was smiling even if his face was buried in her bushy hair. He breathed deeply, smelling the shampoo she always used before setting her back down, still smiling. "The best surprise! What are you doing here? How'd you get here? Where-?"
A finger on his lips stopped his excited questions, and he settled her back down onto the scuffed floor of his room. Hermione drew her ivy wand, and cast a quick Silencio on the door before favoring him with a lopsided smile. "I Apparated, I'm licensed to now, remember? As for why, it's your birthday, obviously." She held up a dainty digital watch on her wrist. "One minute after midnight, so you can leave right now."
"Leave?"
"Yes!" Hermione tugged on his worn out t-shirt, and leaned in to continue speaking in a whisper, even if it wasn't needed. "It's after midnight, so you're seventeen. You already know how to Apparate, so you can go anywhere you like. And since I convinced the Order I was bringing you to Grimmauld Place at nine in the morning, we have eight hours of uninterrupted freedom. Fancy a first date, Mr. Potter?"
As she spoke, Hermione casually waved her wand at Harry's scattered belongings and marched them into his open trunk, packing everything up in seconds. As he recalled, he'd shown her that particular charm last year. He grinned widely, adjusting his glasses to watch. "You've got it all planned out then." It wasn't a question; he knew Hermione too well to have to ask.
She turned back to Harry as his shirts and pants folded themselves atop his neatly stacked schoolbooks, and nodded with a self satisfied smile. "There's a theatre in Oxford, near my house, that stays open all night in summers. I've checked and there are also several after hours public houses for the university students within walking distance. That means we can have the traditional dinner and a movie date."
Hermione was very nearly bouncing, as she said this. Very deliberately stilling herself with an indrawn breath, she shut the lid on Harry's school trunk and sat neatly upon it. Her apparent calm was only betrayed by the fact she hadn't managed to still one nervously bouncing leg. "So?"
"So?" Harry drew the word out, not sure what he was supposed to say.
Hermione worried her lip. "So will you go on a date with me? Now, I mean."
Harry started to laugh, and bit it back so as not to wake the darkened house. "Of course I'd love to. And it's a brilliant plan, Hermione, but I think you forgot a couple of things."
Harry's easy acceptance of her offer visibly relaxed Hermione, enough for her to snort indelicately at Harry's last statement. "Forget something? Name one! I've fifty Pounds, the address of a Metro stop where we can store our trunks for our date, and times on three different films. I'm wearing comfortable shoes in case we choose to stroll around Oxford, a map of transit times, and now I've even got a boyfriend to escort me on my date. Honestly Harry, I've got it all covered."
Harry turned on the desk lamp, and pulled at his threadbare shirt. "Well, for starters you packed up all my clothes..."
Hermione blinked into the sudden brightness of the desk light. As her eyes adjusted, she pinked rapidly as she realized Harry was standing there, not five feet from her, in his boxers and a tattered t-shirt. She cleared her now-dry throat and jumped up from her perch on his trunk. She turned sharply away and kept her head very deliberately buried behind the lid as she quickly rifled through his clothes for something for him to wear.
Harry's very amused voice floated to her from across the room. "Do you need a hand?"
Her bright eyes popped up over the lid of their own volition for a moment before she ducked back into hiding. "No! Almost found everything!"
"Thanks Hermione, I was starting to get cold with-" Harry's good natured teasing was cut short as a pair of denims and a green shirt slapped him in the face. Harry dropped onto his bed, his clothes clutched to his lap as he laughed.
Hermione set his trainers and socks on the floor at the foot of his bed, closed his trunk, and regained her seat. She looked flushed, and her hair was starting to escape her control again, but otherwise she seemed at ease. "Well?"
Harry fought down a smirk. He figured he'd teased her enough, and didn't want to push a joke to the point that she wouldn't want to continue with that promised date. Instead, he kept his amusement off his face as he answered. "Well what?"
"Well," Hermione said with an eye roll. "Put your clothes on, Harry!"
Now it was his turn to clear his throat. Harry pulled at his shirt uncomfortably. "Um, do you want to turn around then?"
"Right then." Hermione turned away too fast for him to catch sight of her expression. Harry's worn t-shirt sailed over her shoulder and landed at the bottom of his dusty wardrobe. Hermione straightened her skirts, and cast about for something to say. "You said I'd forgotten a couple of things. That's only one item, unless you're counting each article of clothing separately."
Harry set the shirt Hermione had selected to one side, and shook his trousers out. "You thought I'd turned seventeen already, and could Apparate. It's still not my birthday yet."
Hermione very nearly spun around at that, but checked herself just in time. Instead, she held up her left hand, displaying her watch to him from across the room. "Which is correct, Harry. It's nine minutes after midnight, so you've been a legal adult for about as long as you can pay attention to Professor Binns."
Harry paused with one leg in his pants, and pulled his watch from his desk, and tossed it over Hermione's shoulder. She jumped a little, but managed to catch it before it fell. Harry shrugged, even though she couldn't see him. "It's not a very big thing to forget, but your watch is off. It's still one minute to midnight."
"Harry," she said with a trace of a laugh in her voice. "You're late everywhere you go. I'd tend to think your watch is the one that's dodgy."
"Trust me, Hermione." Harry sat back down to struggle with his jeans again. Somehow she'd managed to find his smallest pair. He sighed, and continued speaking. "This night of all nights, I'm positive what time it is."
He could see the back of her head shift as she looked back and forth between her wrist and Harry's battered watch. Although he couldn't see her face, he was sure she was frowning slightly. "But I'm sure I'm right. I always... oh, dear."
Harry paused with his pants half way up. "Oh dear, I always what?"
Hermione twisted halfway around on his trunk, tapping her watch sadly. "I was going to say that I check the time each week. I couldn't possibly be off. But then I remembered that I set my watch ten minutes fast every week, which means you were right, Harry. I'm here early."
Harry's brows knit. "Why would you do that?"
She rolled her eyes. "It wasn't deliberate! I wanted to get here just after twelve."
Harry shook his head. "No, I meant 'why would you set your watch wrong like that?'"
"Well, that way, I'll always be on time," she answered, a little of her usual certainty returning to her voice. "Even if I think I'll be cutting my schedule too close, I'll still be punctual."
"I'm starting to think that the year you spent with a Timer Turner did something to you." Harry grinned.
"Yes, well, be that as it may..." Hermione ducked her head and smiled slightly, not quite able to contradict her boyfriend. "In any event, it doesn't matter much anymore, since you're seventeen right... now!"
Harry stood up, still struggling to get his pants up further. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Honestly Harry, are you seventeen or seven? You can get the best of a Hungarian Horntail, but denim trousers are too much for you?"
"Ha ha," Harry answered. "I'll show up in your bedroom some night, and we'll see how collected you are."
Hermione's jaw stuck open at this, thoughts very obviously whirling behind her eyes.
But whatever response she might have had was cut off as the bedroom door exploded inwards in a flash of red. Harry fell back onto his bed as the blast filled the room, and
Hermione slipped from her perch on his school trunk and landing between it and the foot of the bed,.
Smoke filled the splintered doorway, but black robed figures could be seen stepping through. Harry scrabbled for the wand he'd left on the floor. From her spot on the floor, Hermione managed to Stupefy the first masked Death Eater to step through the smoking doorway.
Two more robed and masked figures crowded in quickly, trampling their companion in their haste to rush the room. The first snarled as he chanted the Killing Curse, and the sickly green spell lashed out and blew the lid from Harry's trunk. Hermione pulled her legs in tighter behind the wreckage of the trunk, arms over her head as a second Killing Curse very nearly shattered her cover.
Still twisted across the bed, Harry came up with his wand, and wordlessly blew the Death Eater back from Hermione with a Reductor Curse. The third robed wizard brandished a tarnished bronze medallion, and Harry's next Reductor curse fizzled to a halt before the swinging amulet. A hellish flurry of lights leaped across the room as Harry and the masked Death Eater traded spells.
Ignored by the Death Eater dueling for his life, Hermione had an opportunity to sweep in under his guard. Not sure why the amulet had stopped the Reductor Curse, she took no chances. "Descisio! Supare," she called out quickly.
The Death Eater collapsed with a gurgle. Two more filled the doorway, and Hermione ducked behind the shattered trunk and a hastily raised Protego as a rain of hexes battered her position. Overhead, volleys of spellfire filled the small bedroom, punching holes in walls and filling the ceiling with dense smoke. A muggle fire alarm wailed briefly to life before a random hex shattered it.
Hermione sat up again, pulling the attention of one of Voldemort's supports away from Harry. She found herself pressed back against the brass foot board as this Death Eater managed to deflect her assault and press his attack back at her. Suddenly a brilliant green light flashed out, illuminating the dark bedroom. Hermione and the the Death Eater both stopped, turned and blinked.
The robed figure Harry had been fighting clapped Hermione's opponent on the shoulder, saying, "We did it! Back to Hangleton!"
Hermione managed to topple the speaker with a wordless curse, hearing his silver mask crunch quietly before he fell. His counterpart crouched over his fallen comrades, a flattened football in his hand. With a sudden pop, the dark robed figure and the four fallen bodies vanished.
Portkey, Hermione thought, dazed. She turned about on the floor, peering over the foot board at Harry sprawled out across the bed, still and unmoving. The desk lamp had been destroyed in the brief exchange, and her boyfriend looked cold in the feeble light from the broken window.
I'm being absolutely ridiculous, Hermione thought, fighting to control the tremors that were starting in her hands. I'm absolutely certain there are dozens of spells that cause a green flash of light. I'm working myself up over nothing, and when Harry sits up and needs me to mend his glasses for him, I'll look foolish for being shaken like this.
"Harry?" Hermione crawled over the wreckage strewn about the little bedroom, pulling nearer to the bedside. Sure enough, the both lenses in his glasses were cracked.
She reached out, and pulled his glasses away, tentatively sweeping his hair back as she did so. "Harry?"
The tears came suddenly, choking her. Harry's beautiful green eyes were open, staring blankly. Dead. Everything collapsed inward for Hermione, and she fought to stay upright. It was as though her very lungs were at war, trying at once to suck in a horrified gasp and let out a tremendous keening wail. Neither happened, and she wavered, unable to breathe. Her wand clattered to the floor, ignored, as she held hand to her mouth to stifle something, whatever it was that was clawing its way out of her throat.
She touched his chest, and made a noise deep in her throat as she felt that he was still warm, still firm, still felt like the boy she wanted to curl up next to on a date. But there was no slow pull of his breathing, no heartbeat to soothe her.
Hermione pulled herself away, and was very quietly sick on the floor, heaving until her throat burned with bile. She stopped, and turned back to look at Harry. At Harry's body.
She shivered at the thought, and fought the urge to be sick again.
His stocking feet were protruding from the tangle of his trousers, his glasses askew on his pale forehead, and Hermione shook her head convulsively. No, she thought, no, the Order, the damned Ministry, they don't get to see him like this.
With shaking hands, Hermione fumbled with the pants, easing them off limp legs. She slid his legs back onto the bed fully, and pulled the thin cover up to his chest. She smoothed the sheets with her hand, and a loud sob escaped suddenly. With a gasp, Hermione smothered her tears again, and retrieved Harry's fallen wand. It was worn, the dark polish scuffed and dulled by hard use. Such an unassuming, common looking wand. Hermione liked it very much. With a more confident voice than she felt, Hermione tapped Harry's glasses with the tip of his wand.
"Occulus Reparo." The cracks in the lenses sealed themselves with a puff of smoke.
Hermione, with soft touches closed Harry's green eyes, and eased his worn silver glasses back into place on the bridge of his nose. She smoothed back his stubbornly unruly hair, then turned her head abruptly as a white shadow fluttered through the shattered window. Harry's owl had returned.
"He's not here, Hedwig," Hermione said unevenly. "I'm sorry, I couldn't- couldn't..."
Hermione turned away from the impassive gaze of the snowy owl, rested her cheek on her boyfriend's still form, and let the sobbing overtake her. For a time that was all there was for Hermione, wracking open-mouth tears against Harry's smooth chest.
And then, slowly, shakily, she gathered herself together. Hermione wiped her eyes and slid Harry's wand into one of the pockets of her skirts. She bent and retrieved her own wand, slipping it into the matching pocket. She tottered to unsteady legs and left Harry's little room looking for the Dursleys. The master bedroom was empty, and Dudley's refuse-strewn flop was similarly deserted. She wiped her eyes, and looked downstairs towards the small foyer. The Dursleys' green-painted front door was ajar, swinging slowly in the gentle night breeze. There was no noise from downstairs, and Hermione couldn't summon any desire to run and try to find Harry's awful relatives just then. Instead she found herself standing there, frozen, staring out into the dark. She couldn't help but replay the evening over and over behind her eyes, an endless loop of torment just for her. But one word stuck out in her mind, what the Death Eater had said before Hermione had cut him down too late. Hangleton. Hermione blinked.
She knew where Tom Riddle was.
Feeling unsteady and somehow disconnected from her legs, she turned away from the empty and dark house and walked back through the wreckage of Harry's bedroom door.
Hermione kept her eyes averted from the still figure on the bed, knowing she would loose control again if she looked up. Instead she turned away and riffled through the wreckage of Harry's trunk until she found the slippery silvered fabric of his father's Invisibility Cloak. She stroked it, lost in her memories as she fought her tears back again. Shaking her thoughts off, she tossed it over her arm, and rooted around amongst the strewn bits for the sneakoscope Ron had given Harry years back. She found it, and slipped it into the tattered backpack she found on the floor near the wardrobe. Harry's rebuilt Potter's Pez was tossed into the backpack.
Propped up inside the wardrobe was his Firebolt, the rich finished pocked with discoloured patches from the repairs after last year's fight against the Death Eaters. Hermione swept it up as well; she hated flying, but Harry had proven time and again that fighting from the air gave one a distinct advantage. She shuddered, and knew she'd need every iota of an advantage she could eke out in the next hours.
Hermione moved over the Harry's desk and set the broom down on top, startling Hedwig into a ruffling of her feathers and shifting across the desk. Hermione ripped a page out of Harry's Transfiguration textbook, and wrote a quick note. She folded it up and wrote 'Ron Weasley' in the clear space of the margin.
Turning to the snowy owl, Hermione held the note just out of reach. "Hedwig, I... I need you to deliver this to Ron at the Quibbler. But not for a half-hour, okay? It's important, or else he'll follow me to Little Hangleton. Do you understand?"
Hedwig's wide amber eyes stared into Hermione's wavering red-rimmed ones. The owl craned its' agile neck forward and accepted the letter, then sprung from the desk in a whisper of feathers and disappeared into the night.
Hermione double-checked that she had both wands in her pockets, and that everything she could think of using in a fight was accounted for. They were, and she could put off no longer. Hermione turned back to Harry's body on the bed, and chewed her lip while she willed her tears to stay away long enough for her to say goodbye. "I'm going to get them, H- Harry. I promise."
It didn't seem right, for that to be all she should say. A pained smile crossed her usually friendly face as she remembered her Keats, and she knelt down next to the bed. "'I must stoop my head, and kiss death's foot, love. Farewell!'"
She bent her head, then paused with a hitch in her chest. Taking a steadying breath and blinking furiously, she finished bending to kiss Harry's still lips one last time.
Hermione cried silently, her lips gently touching Harry's. Merlin, she thought, I'm going mad; I'd swear Harry was stroking the back of my head! I've lost him, and now I'm losing my mind. She pressed her forehead against Harry's, sniffling as her tears fell upon his face.
"Shh, don't cry, Hermione."
Hermione jerked back with an agonized gasp, and Harry sat up to follow her! Hermione, trembling, reached out a hand towards him, then jerked it back quickly. With the reflexes of a Seeker, Harry captured her hand in his, and guided it to his chest. She felt his heart beating fast, and the shaky emotions in his breathing.
With one hand trapped over his heart, Hermione found herself speaking through the other. "I- I thought you were... you know."
Harry swallowed. "I'm pretty sure I was, actually."
Hermione shook her head. "No, no. No, you can't have been- been..."
Harry gave her a sickly smile. "Dead?"
She lunged forward to press his lips closed with her free hand. "Shh! Don't say that! You can't have been!"
Harry gasped a bit, and pressed his forehead against her palm. There had been an endless moment where he didn't think he ever would feel Hermione's touch ever again. He smiled, unseen by her in the dark. "You wouldn't believe how glad I am to see you again, Hermione."
There was a long pause following this, and Harry looked up. Without warning, Hermione launched herself at him, shoving him back onto the bed. Unexpectedly, it was accompanied by a rain of blows across his chest as she pounded on him.
"I wouldn't believe! I wouldn't! You- you," she spluttered, all her words lost. She gave up hitting him, fell across Harry as her tears returned.
Harry stroked the back of her head, near tears himself but still delighted in the feel of her hair between his fingers. "It's okay, Hermione. I'm okay. Nothing's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong?" Hermione turned her head sideways so she could speak. "Of course something's wrong, you were dead! Don't tell me nothing's wrong!"
He rubbed her shoulders, her hair, her arms as he comforted them both. "I thought you said I can't have been."
She sniffled, and laughed, and cried all at once. "I'm not up to being reasonable right now."
He had to laugh at this, even if it was a watery one. "Me either."
Eventually she managed to quiet her tears enough to look up at Harry. "You're really here?"
Harry poked his bicep twice, then prodded Hermione's shoulder the same way. "Yeah, it looks like."
"And you're not leaving again?" The look she shot him was scared and accusative all at the same time.
Harry blinked, thinking of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. There was no way he could know what would happen in the days ahead, but that didn't matter just now. "I promise."
Hermione rested her chin on his hard sternum. "After mummy... after my mum ... was killed... Harry, I don't want to lose you too."
"You won't," Harry said. "I'm in love, I'm not about to lose that."
Hermione pushed herself up a little at that, grabbing his shoulders to look him square in the eye. "What did you say?"
Harry knew in some part of his mind that he should be flushed right now, embarrassed about what he'd just admitted. He'd never been able to use that word before, not to describe how he felt. Somehow, at this moment, his feeling just seemed to flow from his heart to his mouth in a way that felt right. "I'm in love. With you, I mean, and you're not going to loose me."
Hermione's jaw dropped. Then she surged forward, finding herself kissing him. Part of her took note of his mouth moving on hers, and she hastily revised her definitions. She always thought kissing was the delicate, gentle thing they'd first done four months ago and snogging was the more passionate embraces they'd occasionally had found the opportunity to sneak when they were alone. Now she wasn't so sure; Harry's kiss was absolutely passionate, but there was just too much to it for her to call it snogging. Then he put a hand to the back of her head, the other dipping low behind her, and she decided to shelve the ontological debate 'til later.
"Harry! Are you- Oh... " At the sound of Remus Lupin's worried voice from the doorway, Hermione rolled off of Harry's chest so fast she nearly slipped off the bed. Only a quick catch by her boyfriend saved her from sprawling across the floor in an undignified heap. Not, she thought, that being clutched to her boyfriend's chest in his bed was particularly more dignified.
The two teens struggled to sit up together, the narrowness of the camp bed making it difficult to accommodate two people who weren't stacked atop one another. After a moment's tussle that nearly landed Hermione on the floor again, she pressed Harry into the bed with one hand, and got up by herself. It may have been dark, but he still caught the flustered glare she shot him.
Harry shot to his feet, and called to the old werewolf now hiding behind the door. "Professor Lupin! The Death Eaters, they were here!"
His Defense professor poked his head around the door, and offered a wan smile at his two now-vertical students. His lit wand was raised, at last bringing some light to the room. "Remus, Harry. And I rather suspected that, given the scorch marks. What I can't piece together is why you were fooling around on the bed, rather than calling for help."
Hermione just ducked her head at this. Harry, however, felt a need to say something. "It's not what it looks like!"
Remus' wandlight dropped fractionally, just enough to make it obvious he was looking down at the fact Harry was wearing only his boxers. Flushing, Harry grabbed the bedsheets and wound them around his hips. "Professor! We weren't-"
"Please," Remus interrupted. "At times like this, let me just be Uncle Remus. And it's all right Harry, Hermione. I was once a young wizard myself, during the last war. I understand the desire to... feel more alive, after a close brush with death, if you take my meaning."
Harry's jaw dropped as his teacher tried to set the two of them at ease. He was too embarrassed to look directly at Hermione, but out of the corner of his eye it looked like she was trying to use wandless magic to disappear, or let the floor open up and swallow her. Harry recognized the feeling.
Meanwhile, Remus was continuing inexorably forward with his speech, like some horrifying nightmare sex education lesson. "At times like these, it's perfectly natural to, what's the phrase? 'Take a loving relationship to the next level' was I think how James' father worded it. Just remember, although it's perfectly natural to have certain... feelings... your love, respect, and commitment are the real keys to a successful relationship. Also, I feel I should point out here there are certain preventative spells and potions you should know about first, before you go jumping into bed together."
"We did not jump into bed together after the Death Eaters left," Harry answered hotly. "I was in bed when they arrived, thank you!"
Hermione's head shot up at this, and she stared wide eyed at him, her expression unreadable. Remus fought to contain a chuckle, and Harry replayed in his head just what his last words were. He didn't know he could blush any more, but now it felt like his face was burning. "That didn't come out right. I meant-"
Hermione reached over and slapped a hand across his mouth, silencing him. Her voice, when she spoke, was remarkably even given how red her face was. "I think you've said enough for now, Harry."
"Remus! Have you found 'em?" Shocking pink hair and a union jack shirt rounded the doorway, and tumbled to an ungainly halt against Lupin's side. Tonks pulled up short, looking Harry up and down as he clutched his sheets around his waist. "Wotcher, Harry. Guess you didn't exactly need rescuing."
Hermione's mouth twitched to one side in irritation, and Tonks burst into a giggling fit. "Course, maybe you do if you blew the door off, eh?"
Harry's irritated look joined Hermione's, and Remus took the opportunity to shoo Tonks back out of the door. "We'll let you two... get cleaned up, and we'll be taking you back to Headquarters."
"No time for anything else, lover-boy," Tonks called out, laughing, as she was dragged down the stairs.
Harry and Hermione looked at each other. She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, and he kept licking his lips. Finally, he broke the silence. "At least it wasn't Fred and George."
"Oh yes, because the last of the Marauders and Nymphadora are ever so much better," she answered hotly.
Harry tossed the sheets away and took her by the shoulders. "I'm not embarrassed they caught us kissing. I just don't want them assuming you're doing things you don't want to be doing."
Hermione sighed heavily, and gave her boyfriend a peck on the cheek. "Let's just get what's left in here gathered up, and we can get out of here. Hopefully, we can just forget about Professor Lupin's little speech."
"Sounds good," answered Harry as he hunted around for his least damaged clothes. "And I see I'm not the only one who can't stop calling him 'Professor.'"
Hermione had gathered most of his things in his invisibility cloak, and used it like a giant sack. "But Harry? When we get there, I don't think we should tell anyone about... you know."
He leaned over to her. "Me dying?"
She winced. "Yes. That."
Harry grunted, and tugged on the green shirt Hermione had thrown at him earlier. He wasn't so sure he liked the idea of keeping such a huge secret. On the other hand, he also didn't very well want to tell the whole Order that he was even more unusual than before, even more The-Boy-Who-Lived than they had thought. Finally struggling into his trousers, Harry nodded, deciding that in almost every circumstance, it was best to go with Hermione's advice. He grabbed Hedwig's cage and his backpack full of spell books, and followed her out of the ruined bedroom.
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